


All For Something

by Savnock (Silex)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dark, F/M, Fantasy, Gnolls, Monsters, Slave Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Savnock
Summary: It was night when they finally reached the village. Ekundayo crouched in the tall savannah grass her speckled coat blended smoothly making her just another shadow in the dark.





	All For Something

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Silex.

It was night when they finally reached the village. Ekundayo crouched in the tall savannah grass her speckled coat blended smoothly making her just another shadow in the dark. Her round ears let her hear the sounds of bedding down and either rutting or restless writhing, her blocky snout tasted the air and she smelled everything she had expected waste, drying plants and meat, the smoke of dying coals. Rising slightly she squinted and made out the shapes of the rest of her band.

They moved like a pack of ghosts, Sarru’s men, southlander dark and clad in either simple harnesses or hiding-cloaks woven with the local grass. Each carried a spear with a wide leaf-shaped blade and a small shield of thick wicker backed with leather, those who had distinguished themselves wore heavy chopping blades of wafer-edged iron. The band moved with practiced form as they encircled the camp, Ekundayo shifted forward to close the circle.

She couldn’t remember the name of the man to her right, he looked over and met her with a predatory grin. Despite the difference in race he had come to accept her just as the rest, she was just another predator, at that moment all of the band were wolves no matter what form they took.

Ekundayo grinned over the flames, the chattel cringed as she drew out the scorched head of the thick limbed man who had been fool enough to cross blades with Sarru. Her powerful jaws tore a chunk of meat from the trophy, victory tasted of southlander flesh and dung-fire smoke. Cries broke from the chattel and she drank deep knowing that their fear would make them pliant in the weeks to come. A round ear pivoted slightly to register Sarru as he approached from the far side of the camp. Sarru looked the same as always, light skin, both beard and hair the blue black of tar, cold sapphire eyes and shining ivory teeth. Sarru stood out from the rest of the gathering, in some ways he was more an outsider than she was. He wore thick blue robes and a girdle of brass scales, he fought with a shamshir not a crude iron hatchet and his shield was mirrored steel worked with runes of his odd musical language.

The boy screamed as she set upon him, her powerful fists bruising and breaking his dark skin. Just as Sarru and his wolves she took her pleasure from the chattel when she wished and just as Sarru and his wolves she was far from kind. Her strikes were measured, a cracked rib, a deep bruise, a blinded eye and split lips, each had purpose and despite the southern youths wiry strength each struck home and left him weaker. The wolves watched and jeered, some spit on the boy as he reeled past and others dealt blows of their own. Ekundayo’s mouth slavered and she felt herself flush with the nearness of her climax, the boy screamed as she bore down atop him, powerful jaws fastening to his shoulder. Jeers faded as she dragged her prize back to the grasses, the wolves knew who was stronger and were wise to her cruel urges.

While Ekundayo took her pleasure Sarru recalled his own, he had taken great care in the skinning and the racks that hung from his steed were laden with the drying leather of his nights work. The raid had been fruitful, three-score slaves and meat enough to keep the Ghanaz tribesman happy for weeks. Despite the agonized cries from the bush most of the chattel remained silent, the people here were nomadic and most had never before felt the lash and learned quickly as such. He had let them men take their pick of the chattel on the first night and had warned them to take but one each lest he or the Gnoll find out. The camp was laid out just as he liked, clean circles of chattel separated by his elite Iron-men and surrounded by the tents and fires which housed the rest of his small band.

Without thinking Sarru found himself wandering amongst the circles, eyes lingering on smooth dark skin and fearful idiot faces. A girl-child whimpered under his gaze, a one-armed boy burst to tears, a grown woman strained at the chains and heavyset man shrank as though the eye was that of a demon itself. It pleased him, while it would be wasteful to take more from the stock for his own desires he knew he would likely take at least one more before they reached the markets of Parsai. While his hands stroked his knives his mind split, one half weighed and measure the cost of each he desired and the other sorted the possibilities which each canvas could achieve. He had wanted to finish the whip for a while, a few quick words and gestures saw the maimed boy dragged wailing from his line.

Like a burning eye the desert sun glared blindly down onto the pale sands, they had lost a half dozen chattel to a Brazhak raid and now they were struggling to outdistance those same vultures who had declined to join the raid weeks prior. It was the idiot humans fault, Sarru was cunning but he put too much to chance trusting the tribes not to try and reap his success. Ekundayo’s twin K’pinga felt heavy in her hands, she had reaped her fair share in the battle but even her mighty thews had tired from the hard pace set since. The boy behind her stumbled on his lead, she had taken him many times since that first night and it was unlikely he would survive her next fit of pique. Better to enjoy the moment then let the Brazhak take her meat. A casual movement emptied her chattel onto the sands.

“Fucking hell Ekundayo, you couldn’t wait for the men to set camp?” Sarru’s cold voice rang out in fluent Gnoll from atop his horse. She ignored him, with practiced movements she discarded the less choice offal and hacked the corpse into more manageable chunks. “I asked you a question, answer it before I take further offense you spotted bitch!”

“Fuck you snake boy, he was mine.” Her fingers prized out an eye and she popped it into her mouth with a satisfying crunch.

“Yet you waste him on the sand and leave a trail a soft city-man could follow.”

She paused to swallow before spitting in Sarru’s direction, he knew not to push her further lest she challenge him. For a moment he held her gaze, his cold blue eyes daring her as her gesture dared him, the train slowed as the two fingered blades. A murmur rose amongst the wolves and furtive glances raced between the two monsters, one a man and the other a beast of the sands. The pack was worried. They knew that if things did not grow cold then they would only have one alpha. Only one could lead the group, a human, the wolves would not bow to a bitch as her own kind would. She glared back and realized he knew it, if he died then she would not be able to drag the rest of the chattel back from the fragmented tribesmen.

“This time I let you go snake boy, next I fuck you like the man you are.”

She broke his gaze and rejoined the edge of the train, the pack was reassured, for now at least.

It was morning when the Brazhak struck again, they came atop lean desert horses or running on sand toughened feet. Their leader was a painted with scars showing his prestige and he carried a great iron-bladed spear hung with kinky scalps and ivory beads, about his chest ran crossing belts of leather worked with bosses of brass and crudely stamped with the snarling face of his tribes wretched god. In the first pass that same southlander had slain two of Sarru’s wolves and a heavy slave whose slack corpse now crippled the train. The footmen came next, javelins and crude arrows lanced into the wicker shields and unprotected flesh of the wolves. It continued like this for some time, Sarru rallied the wolves and his silver blade and shield were soon both red with Brazhak blood. 

Ekundayo held her remaining K’pinga in one hand and a cleaver taken from a fallen iron-man in the other, her jaws hung loose and stained with pink foam. She spat blood onto the sand and let her ears swivel to track the remaining horses. Her first toss had killed the man who smelled like the chiefs get, even better it had split his horses flank and sent it crashing down upon itself in a wonderfully mortal fashion. She kept the second blade close and after every toss she harried forth from the circled wolves to retrieve it from the ink-skinned corpse it had become planted within, at some point the Iron-man at her left had fallen to an arrow in the gut and she had taken the cleaver from his faltering hand so she could gut a rushing footman. Sarru’s defiant gaze occasionally flicked over to her and in those fleeting moments she came to find it tempting. A spear grazed her ear and she chopped through the dry haft and snared out the fools entrails with her K’pinga’s rear tine, in that moment of apparent distraction a footman in a cowskin robe lunged at her with an iron studded cudgel. His blow narrowly missed her jaw and the teeth of the club raked her thick skin like lions teeth, as he drew back for second swing she flicked out the cleaver and opened his thigh through his robes. Bleeding and stumbling his movement spoiled the tribesman fell as the cleaver rose and split his ribs in a crimson blaze, past him another footman was lain open as her K’pinga whickered through the air and his fragile human ribs. Ekundayo chuckled between panting breaths, her arousal drove her to new heights and each of her movements clove another of the Brazhak. Screams and cries rent the air as the Brazhak retreated before her, a young Brazhak hung from her jaws his breathing ragged as he shuddered away. Sarru’s sharp laugh cut the air as the broken tribe reeled away, the Ghanaz would eat well that night.

Sarru couldn’t help but smile as he tossed the scorched arm of the chieftain’s son over to the hero of the day, she caught it in one taloned hand and tore free a chunk with those powerful jaws. “Saved the day didn’t I snake boy?” she tossed the meat back and motioned him to bite back, despite his pride he knew he needed to cede. The meat was greasy and limned with Ekundayo’s thick spit, it tasted sweet. Roaring Sarru hurled the meat to one of his remaining iron-men and motioned him to follow. They would make it back to Parsai in another few days and the payoff would be more than worth it. As the revels continued Sarru drank most of his remaining wine and danced amongst the men with a freedom he rarely indulged. Stumbling his way back to his tent he saw Ekundayo giggling as she thoroughly trounced one of his iron men in what was likely a running game of knucklebones. The Gnoll paused for a moment to shoot him a revoltingly salacious grin and a gesture that though not recognized was doubtlessly obscene, warmed with alcohol and victory he found a smile of his own to show in return. Ekundayo tossed something to back to the iron-man and grabbed Sarru by his sleeve, quietly chuckling she half-led, half-dragged Sarru back towards his tent, twice they needed to stop so he could empty his stomach of crude Ghanaz alcohol and half-digested meat. 

Ekundayo kept a tight grip on Sarru as she pulled him through the camp, he seemed pale after the second bout of vomiting and his normal cold and aloof nature had faded somewhat. Sarru smelled of uncertainty, confusion and stress, he had hid them well but the soft race of man could not compare to her own keen senses. The door to the tent was tugged open and the bands dual rulers stumbled in together. Ekundayo’s gaze flicked to the trunk and brazier, a carved stool of Ghanaz make, Sarru’s trademark sword and shield, a worn bedroll. Hauling Sarru up she checked his eyes, tasted his breath, measured his movements. “You’re fucking drunk snake-boy,” Ekundayo punctuated her statement with a sharp laugh as she hurled him to the ground. He was weak in that moment, submissive, his cold air replaced by one of confusion and petty fear. It made him desirable. Her powerful hands knocked aside his drunken protests, she pulled the ties for her loincloth as she straddled him in such a way she could trap his legs. He swung a fist at her jaw and with aroused disdain she caught and bent it back, a knee tried to lift to strike her crotch but she checked it with a twist of her own as she bore down on his trapped hand, she wanted to see him crying. Her fist collided with his ribs and from somewhere he produced a small knife, the blade became far more intimidating after the third line it punched into and through the thick skin under her breasts. Hissing she slugged him across the jaw with enough force to fell a man twice his size, it did fuck all. Suddenly the knife was back, it raked open her cheek and cut a notch into the edge of her ear, it flickered and she released his other hand as the blade sunk though her forearm.

“Playing for keeps snake boy? Fine, I will fuck you as you die,” her hands gripped at his headscarf and in a series of violent rocking motions bounced his head off the hard earth, each blow eliciting a grunt of pain and another flurry of stabs and blows. Blood streamed down from her wounds and into his eyes, strands of thick spit coated his face and hands. A scream rang out from the camp, it was ignored as she caught his hands and squeezed till the knife fell from limp fingers. He was talking in fast Parsai. Loud shouts and war cries split the night and the strange tension within the tent.

Sarru burst from the tent a whirling cloud of robes and silvered steel, his shamshir like a tongue of flame in the desert night. A Brazhak horseman collapsed when the irregular form of a Gnoll K’pinga tore past and carried his guts with it. The chieftain’s spear bounced from Sarru’s shield and in return Sarru hamstrung the bold southlander’s horse. Ekundayo ran past and severed a footman’s leg in the same swipe that left her remaining blade deep in the thick muscle of a horse’s neck. Sarru struggled to remember his forms, the haze of the alcohol and the strange sexual battle that had followed had him far from his best. Like a serpent the tongue of the chief’s spear licked out and killed one of the last iron-men before glancing again from his shield. The chief roared in his harsh tongue as he leapt over his fallen steed, his thews were like bands of steel under his tight dark flesh and they drove him with lion like speed. Crushed back by the force of the charge Sarru’s form was lost, together he tumbled lost in the frantic melee. From somewhere the chief had produced a thick triangular dagger which danced atop the brass scale Sarru wore both under and over his robes. Straining against the larger man Sarru twisted his sword arm out from under the haft of the spear the chieftain still clutched and whipped it back like he was lashing a slave, the blade carved a stripe from the chieftain just as the dagger bit home. Brass scales split and blood began to well from his stomach as the chief forced the blade deeper, the pain was intense and Sarru screamed as his struggles increased. A high pitched laugh cut the air and the pressured faltered as the chief’s head was encircled in thickly furred arms, with a sharp wrenching motion and the staccato of breaking vertebrae the Brazhak chief fell once and for all.

Ekundayo grinned down as she hefted the chief from atop Sarru. “They killed most of the catch, the Brazhak died to deprive us of them,” she grinned when his eyes widened at the realization she had never replaced her loincloth. “Doesn’t have to be a wasted trip, you fought and killed like a right speckled bitch and for that you can be on top for your first time.”

Sarru realized it was going to be a longer night than expected.


End file.
